


mouthful of forevers

by pinkwinwin



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Inspired by Poetry, Introspection, M/M, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwinwin/pseuds/pinkwinwin
Summary: Jeonghan writes, and Junhui listens.





	mouthful of forevers

**Author's Note:**

> Reading [this](https://wordsfortheyear.com/2014/11/29/mouthful-of-forevers-by-clementine-von-radics/) will help the references in this fic make a lot more sense. Please enjoy!
> 
> #

Jeonghan writes, and Junhui listens.

Listens to the words that he mutters under his breath, when he can’t get the tone just right. Repeats the single line like a mantra as he searches for a blank piece of paper to scribble it down. Sometimes it’s a napkin tucked into his back pocket, sometimes it’s the worn journal that Junhui had gifted Jeonghan for his birthday. 

Junhui listens as Jeonghan tells him the words that leaked their way into his heart, nods along when he reads back a passage that he swears will change his life. Stores away the information for later, like slowly building the puzzle of words and emotions that crafts the Yoon Jeonghan before him.

Some part of him wonders if Jeonghan will ever read Junhui’s words back at him, if he’ll hold onto them like a lifeline. 

The wind rustles the trees outside the car as Jeonghan stops to search for a pen in the glove compartment. “This line is the best one, I can feel it,” he says.

Jeonghan eventually writes it, and Junhui listens.

° ° °

Junhui writes in a language Jeonghan can’t understand.

He’s grateful for it. He loves that he can write about the gentle curve of Jeonghan’s hair behind his ear or the way his brow creases in concentration when he works. Loves that he can write right in front of him, and he has no idea.

_ (I could fill a hundred notebooks about the way you smile and it still wouldn’t be enough. There are fragments of your fingerprints across my heart and apologies in the shape of your lips at the base of my neck.) _

  
  
“What are you writing?” Jeonghan asks. Junhui smiles in return.

“Nothing.”

° ° °

Jeonghan’s room is messy in the kind of way he thinks his mind is, carefully organized in a way that only makes sense to him. The rest of the world just sees clutter, just sees a problem that’s too frustrating to fix.

But Junhui doesn’t look at him like that. Junhui looks at him like a Saturday morning, like the promise of something wonderful to come. Even the way his lips curl up in the corners when he looks at Jeonghan sends something aching into his chest.

“Don’t you ever get tired of following me?” Jeonghan asks with a laugh, tucking a pen behind his ear. He pulls a blanket down from his bed, spreads it across the floor. Dumps a few pillows onto it and smiles, satisfied.

He always did work better this way.

“No,” Junhui answers simply, letting his bag fall to the floor. He pulls out a notebook and a few pens, spreading them out onto the pale blue blanket. Jeonghan looks at him for a moment before pulling a book off the shelf, ignoring the surprised look on Junhui’s face.

“You’re not writing today?”

  
  
Jeonghan thinks, tries to forget how soft Junhui’s voice sounds. “I’m looking for some inspiration first.”

  
  
He hears Junhui hum in response, hears the turning of pages as he searches for what he was working on before. Jeonghan focuses on the book in his hand, but every poem reminds him of the man in front of him. Everything is breathing a life into the feelings he tries to push below the water’s surface. 

  
  
Jeonghan is a man treading water, and he’s starting to get tired.

“Read to me,” Junhui requests, eyes closed and resting his head against a pillow on the ground. The room is messy and warm with the orange light of the lamp in the corner of the room. Jeonghan hums— tries to fight back the ocean lapping at the back of his neck— and thumbs through the poetry book in his hand, until he comes to one of his favorite pieces.

_ “I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers,”  _ he recites. Looks at Junhui, realizes the sentiment makes sense.

“That’s pretty,” Junhui whispers, hair the color of chestnuts resting against his forehead. Jeonghan looks at him carefully, like he’s delicate.

Maybe Jeonghan is the delicate one. He thinks of this and swears he tastes salt water.

“I never liked the word,” Jeonghan replies quietly, making a point to stare directly at the page instead of Junhui who’s angled his head to look right at him. “It was always too serious, too final.” Like speaking a fear into the void. Giving it power.

  
  
Jeonghan looks at Junhui this time, right into his eyes. And he tastes the fear on his tongue. 

  
  


° ° °

_ (Later, he and Junhui lay sprawled out on their makeshift bed on the floor. The lamp is off and the room is bathed in moonlight. _

_ “Do you ever like looking at the moon?” Junhui asks, pulling Jeonghan closer. Tucking him into the space below his neck, but letting Jeonghan shift beneath his touch. Just enough to look at him. _

_ “The moon?” Jeonghan echos, not understanding the question, until he looks at Junhui and realizes exactly what he means. _

_ It’s then that he tastes it. Not fear, not salt water. _

_ Just a mouthful of forevers. _

_ And when Junhui still stares up at the moon, still holds him close, he realizes perhaps that word isn’t so bad after all.) _

_ ° ° ° _

Junhui likes to write everywhere. Thinks there’s no such thing as the right atmosphere, just the right idea.

It’s why he scribbles in diners, in cars, in the same coffee shop he and Jeonghan frequent when they wake up earlier than the rest of the group. He finds he has more inspiration lately, tries not to think about why, but then he sees it.

He sees the way Jeonghan angles his head, tilts it just so to watch him write.

“What are you planning?” Jeonghan asks delicately, holds the cup between his hands. The steam from his drink curls up to kiss his face, and Junhui fights back some line about how he wishes he could do the same.

“You make it sound so devious,” Junhui replies with a crooked grin, lips curled in as he writes at an angle. He can feel the pen scratching, knows Jeonghan can’t read the language he’s writing. Says a silent prayer for that.

Jeonghan laughs and it sounds like rain.

“I suppose it does.”

  
  
It isn’t until Jeonghan leaves the table to get a second cup that Junhui tears out a page and folds it into his pocket. Only a single line written on it. 

_ (In a thousand different lifetimes, I think I’d write about you in every one of them.) _

° ° °

Months later, when the weather has turned to ice that forms on the windows, Junhui holds Jeonghan in the space between his chest and the wall his bed is pressed against. He eyes the streetlight outside, how it becomes out of focus in the gentle snowfall.

“How did that poem go?” Junhui asks quietly. Jeonghan stirs against his heart, presses his palm against his bare skin.

_ “I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope,”  _ Jeonghan murmurs, voice deep from sleep but the words dance from his lips as they’re plucked from his memory.

“I like that,” Junhui whispers back, holding Jeonghan closer and threading his fingers through pale blonde hair. He hums beneath his touch, nosing into the skin that stretches across Junhui’s sternum.

“A mouthful of forevers,” Jeonghan says, but then pushes up to look at Junhui. Holds his face between his hands, even after Junhui speaks.

“I thought you didn’t like that word.”

  
  
Jeonghan tilts his head, watches the moon shine across Junhui’s face. “I think I could give it a chance.”

And when Jeonghan kisses him then, he tastes the chance, the forevers, the love—

and perhaps that is its own miracle. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I've been revisiting old Tumblr poets from back in the day, and this poem always stuck out to me— so I decided to write about it. What better way than to write the otp, right? Thanks, Clementine.
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ♡   
[Fic Twitter](https://twitter.com/pinkwinwin)   
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